


Then It Hits Me

by DenTheManNequin



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/F, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-24 00:49:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13202151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DenTheManNequin/pseuds/DenTheManNequin
Summary: Clarke wants to momentarily forget whatever’s happened at the Mountain, but can she?





	Then It Hits Me

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, this is my first fic! Please be gentle :-) This is inspired by a real-life encounter. The title of this work is also named after lyrics of an original song that I wrote which is about the same encounter. (lol, girl A kisses girl B, girl B thinks of girl C)
> 
>  
> 
> :-)

**Niylah**

  
Niylah knew who she was from the moment she stepped into her hut – The Invincible _Wanheda_ who took down the Grounders’ greatest enemy – the _Maunon_. She knew, despite the crummy layers of dirt and soil plastered all over Clarke’s face and body, and the dyed red hair from goodness-knows-which-creature’s blood. Obviously, it was dyed – Niylah knew better – she knew what truly laid beneath the blood red pigment. Often, the _gonakru_ would speak of the _Wanheda_ who fell to the ground from the sky not too long ago – wavy locks reminiscent of the dawning sun, and sharp, piercing eyes of clear skies on a good day.

  
As Niylah studied the young woman while wringing a wet cloth for the offending, raw claw marks of a panther on Clarke’s left shoulder, however, the clear skies appear to have been invaded by stormy clouds of grey. Furrowed brows and tense shoulders.

  
“No kill marks?” Niylah probed.

  
“My back’s not big enough,” was the nearly inaudible response from Clarke.

  
Niylah’s heart sank to her stomach. _Troubled,_ she decided, was the woman – too young to have the weight of the world upon her bare shoulders. Clarke couldn’t go on like this. She needed refuge. Safety. Comfort. Acceptance. Understanding. Empathy. Clarke needed to be human again.

  
So she wasn’t surprised when she felt those lips against hers not too long after. She understood that Clarke needed to feel. She wasn’t bothered – she was far from it – Clarke was alluring in her own ways - even having lived in the wilderness for months. Under normal circumstances whereby Clarke wasn’t _Wanheda_ , she would even have made the first move. Saying Clarke was attractive would be an understatement. Never mind that she’s heard rumours about _Heda_ and the woman currently beneath her, pressing her lips desperately against hers, hands roaming and exploring. Never mind that this may not mean anything when morning comes. In this instant, this very moment, Clarke wants _Niylah_ , not _Lexa_. And that’s all that matters.

 

**Clarke**

  
Clarke wants a _distraction_ , a frozen moment in time whereby she could just _forget_ and maybe, start to _remember_. Remember what it’s like to feel before she was shoved with responsibilities after responsibilities. She didn’t ask for this, did she? She was barely 18.

  
_She pulled the lever. Agony etched on faces of the old and the young. The innocent. Blistering skin – red, oh, so red, red, red, red, splotchy, sizzling, flesh –_

  
No.

  
Kiss. Another kiss. Feel, feel, feel – she needs to feel.

  
_Screams of the victims piercing her –_

  
No.

  
A tongue forcefully pushing past Niylah’s lips, earning a shudder and a sigh from the woman above her.

  
_**Yes.**_ This is what she needed. To feel, to forget -

  
_Pink, plump lips, patient, respectful, not hungry like this._

  
Huh?

  
Clarke broke the kiss and looked up at the woman straddling her. Brown eyes searched blue.

  
_She could do this._

  
Flipping them over so their positions switched, Clarke reconnected their lips once again and tried to feel something, anything. She even tried to let out little breathy whimpers to get into it. But she couldn’t, she couldn’t ignore how these lips didn’t fit perfectly against hers like another. How they weren’t in sync – clumsy, frantic, bumping of teeth. How Niylah’s little sounds and Niylah’s taste weren’t enough to send electricity straight down to her very core. Behind closed lids, Clarke suddenly saw the sparkle of forest green, a leap of faith, a trembling but determined hand caressing her cheek -

  
_“Don’t we deserve better than that?”_

  
_“Maybe we do.”_

  
She jerked violently, gasping, and Niylah’s hands flew to Clarke’s side immediately. “ _What’s wrong?”_ Again, dilated brown eyes, now laced with concern apart from desire, searched blue ones.

  
Clarke couldn’t, shouldn’t, **wouldn’t** think about that traitor. The one who left her for dead at the foot of the mountain. The one who forced her to be a killer. The one who didn’t have to bear the burdens of those deaths.

  
In response, Clarke wiggled a hand in between their compressed, flushed bodies and cupped Niylah’s right breast through white, taut bindings. Niylah hissed and arched her back, exposing her neck. Greedily, Clarke attached her mouth to the skin just under Niylah’s left earlobe, which earned a guttural groan from the now squirming woman. Feeling encouraged, Clarke’s touches became more frantic, desperate to do anything to keep her mind away from a said Commander with black streaks of war paint on her face.

 

**Niylah**

 

Niylah sat up abruptly after a while, removed her chest bindings, and rolled Clarke over – all in the flash of an eye. She lifted up Clarke’s ratty and torn shirt, kissing trails down her stomach, and reaching for her waistband –

  
“Wait,” a hand prevented her from proceeding with her administrations.

  
“What is it?” Niylah couldn’t help but feel a little disgruntled after being interrupted thrice now. She tried to wriggle free of Clarke’s hand but to no avail. She just wants to touch Clarke, make her feel good -

  
“I heard something. A thud,” Clarke gripped tighter around Niylah’s wrist.

  
Niylah cocked her head slightly to the left, straining her ears for any possible indications of what Clarke had just described.

  
_Silence._

  
It felt like an awkward minute or two have passed, before Niylah replied.

  
“I don’t hear anything.”

  
The grip on her wrist finally slackened, and Niylah started peppering Clarke’s lower abdomen with quick kisses while slowly lowering Clarke’s pants from her waist. It’s been a while since she has done this; blood was **pounding** in her ears from excitement, and she just wants to rid the clothes off from Clarke.

  
_Helping her,_ Niylah decided, _I am helping her with her sorrows._ She was so caught up in her thoughts, and almost missed the soft words that have spilled from Clarke.

  
“I think I’ll regret this in the morning.”

  
For a split second, Niylah stopped fumbling with Clarke’s pants and tried to compose herself and her erratic breathing. But oh, her core was throbbing, she was riled up, and in need, and she badly wants to make this last, even if just for one night.

  
“I won’t,” she buried her face into Clarke’s left hipbone and muttered.

  
Clarke sat up and gently touched Niylah’s shoulder. Finally, blue meets brown. _An apology, a plea for forgiveness and understanding._

  
“I will.”

  
Niylah cleared her throat.

  
“I think you should go now.”


End file.
